


Salt in the Wounds

by quellthefire



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Everything Hurts, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mental Illness, Suicidal Thoughts, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 01:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17416277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quellthefire/pseuds/quellthefire
Summary: “I-i-i don’t know what you want from me, Eliot.” Quentin sighs and slumps against the doorway. “I’m just tired.”Eliot’s face falls as he takes a step towards Q. “I want you to be okay. I want me to be okay. I want things to not be so goddamn fucked up right now.”————————————Quentin is struggling with his depression and lashes out at Eliot. All hurt and no comfort





	Salt in the Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> TW/CW for toxic behavior, depression and anxiety, mention of suicidal ideation 
> 
> Not sure what made me end up writing this, but I seem to really be drawn to writing angst between these two, despite loving to read happy fluffy smutty fic.

“I-i-i don’t know what you want from me, Eliot.” Quentin sighs and slumps against the doorway. “I’m just tired.”

Eliot’s face falls as he takes a step towards Q. “I want you to be okay. I want me to be okay. I want things to not be so goddamn fucked up right now.”

Quentin lets out a juddering laugh, “Let’s be honest with each other. You haven’t been okay for a long time. I can’t remember a time where I wasn’t this anxious, suicidal wreck, and besides, when have things not been fucked up between us?” Even as he’s saying the words he knows this is the wrong thing to do. It’s not really how he feels, but he doesn’t want to have to think about how he really feels. 

This is somehow easier. Hurting Eliot in this moment is somehow easier than being truthful with him. Or with himself. 

But then he sees Eliot’s face, all hard lines and edges. Only it’s not so hard anymore. It’s softened with… what? Shame, frustration, disappointment? No. Pain. 

Pain that only Quentin can cause. 

Pain that Quentin is causing. 

And he feels like the worst person in the universe at this exact moment. Eliot has already been through so much. And yet here Quentin is, rubbing salt in the wound, and then spitting on it for good measure. 

And why? Because it’s easier to keep hurting the people you care most about than to admit you fucked up and ask for forgiveness.

At least that’s how Quentin sees it. His depression usually just focuses itself inward, on hating the softest parts of himself. The parts that are easily crushed by the weight of his illness. 

Lately, though, his depression and anger and anxiety is lashing out. He’s lashing out. He has a hard time reconciling what’s really him and what’s his asshole brain doing the talking. He knows that no one else sees a difference. They don’t know that there are times he feels fully in control of the things he says and does, and then there are times it’s like he’s a hostage in his own head. 

Those are the times he hates himself most. The times he says things that make Eliot crumble. 

“Fuck this, Q. Fuck you. I know we’ve always been more of an idea than a real thing, but you know how I feel about you. I can see it in your eyes. You know how fucking horrible you’re being. And you don’t even seem to care how much it’s killing me.” Eliot drops Quentin’s coat on the ground and turns to walk away.

The coat he gave Eliot on their freezing walk back to the cottage because Eliot had been too vain to ruin his outfit with a jacket that didn’t coordinate. The coat Quentin always secretly thought of as his Eliot coat because the boy looked so damn good in it. The coat he knew Eliot secretly loved wearing because it was his. 

And Eliot had dropped it on the dirty floor and walked away. From him. From whatever they were, and weren’t, and would now probably never be. 

And Quentin crumples to the ground, wondering if there’s ever going to be a time he doesn’t fuck things up.


End file.
